


Merry Month of May

by NebulousMistress



Category: American Folklore, Danny Phantom
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Gen, far too much research went into this, includes AU, includes folklore, includes monsters, includes puns, includes road trip, includes science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6714220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The PhannieMay 2016 challenge. One prompt for each day in the month of May.</p><p>Now Playing: Free Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Origins

Four year old Jack Fenton carried the bottle of pills to his mother, the special headache pills that she needed, that she took with the brown glass bottle that no one else was ever allowed to touch or smell. His mommy lay on the couch, warm compress over her eyes, arm flung across her face to try and keep the strange little images away. A ‘migraine’, she called it. The little images she saw were nothing to worry about, she promised, not even when she randomly tried to grab at them, grab at the floating holes in space. Tiny little black arches, reality curling into them as they sucked in light to parts unknown. They shined in the dark.

Jack waited patiently as his mother poured out two large white pills and swallowed them with a swig of the brown glass bottle. She laid back down and pressed her arm over her eyes to keep out the images.

Jack didn’t know what this 'migraine’ was, not really. It was just something that occasionally made his mother scared and then bad for playing with. No more shouting or running around, he was supposed to sit in his room quietly and color or something.

He never did.

He wasn’t sure what the little images his mother saw were, but he knew they were real. He saw them too.

His father used a word for things like this. 'Ghosts’. Maybe these images were ghosts?

His mother groaned and dragged the warm compress off of her face before taking a long pull from the brown bottle. “Go color or something,” she mumbled, sounding tired. “Just, go do something. Elsewhere. Please, Jack, just go to your room or something.”

Jack nodded. The tiny images were getting stronger, swarming around his mother with dark black centers and shining shimmering edges.

They scared him. These 'ghosts’ scared him. But maybe if he knew what they were. Maybe when he were bigger…


	2. Fentonworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to [Family Secrets](http://archiveofourown.org/works/765528)

“Got any threes?”

“Go fish.”

Twelve year old Danny Fenton sat at the kitchen table with his older sister, a deck of cards strewn around them in a game of 'Go Fish'. It was a slow day, a lazy autumn sunday when the trees hadn't quite changed, homework wasn't difficult yet, and everyone's friends were off doing something else.

It was a weekend when Uncle Frank was staying with them.

He wasn't their uncle, nor was his name actually Frank. Every visit seemed to bring a new person, a new face to introduce as Uncle Frank. A quarter of the time Frank wasn't even a man. But one thing connected all these people.

They were all from the Nuclear Regulatory Commission.

Quarterly inspections, a few hours to make sure the waste separation was going smoothly and to sometimes buy some of that waste. Every autumn the graphite core needed inspecting to make sure it wasn't degraded and clogging the salt pipes. Check the pipes for leaks, don't want any of the liquid salt getting out.

Once they had a meltdown, or at least that's what it would have been called if it were dangerous. A pipe burst and thousand degree liquid salt flooded the reactor floor. Ugh, the cleanup took _days_. Danny and Jazz hadn't been allowed to leave the second floor of Fentonworks for a week.

“Got any sixes?”

“Go fish.”

The lead-lined door to the basement opened. Jack and Maddie walked out, joined by a woman in a yellow jumpsuit and hardhat, a nametag hastily pinned to her breast that said 'Frank'.

The game was paused as both Danny and Jazz looked up. “Hi there,” Jazz said.

“Hey, kids,” 'Uncle Frank' said. “You should be upstairs. Shouldn't they be upstairs? The core is open and all.”

“It's safe enough,” Jack dismissed.

Maddie rolled her eyes. “Uncle Frank is right, kids, you should be upstairs. We're all going to be working in the subbasement for a few hours so just order a pizza when you get hungry, k? My wallet's in the bedroom.”

“Okay, Mom,” Jazz said. She gathered up the cards, only somewhat attempting to preserve the game they were in the middle of.

The basement door closed and the grownups stood around the kitchen discussing something about the price of niobium and restart costs.

Danny hung around, staying quiet. He'd never been allowed into the subbasement beneath the labs. Maybe if he was good...

“Danny, go play with your sister,” Maddie said, shooing him out of the kitchen.

Darn it. Danny pouted as soon as he was alone and started slowly up the stairs. Someday he would get to see the reactor in the subbasement.


	3. Road Trip

“C'mon Danny let's go.”

Eleven year old Danny Fenton sighed. Every year it was the same thing. Pack up the RV, drive around the country in some aimless pattern that only his dad could comprehend, visit all sorts of boring sites while his parents took out all sorts of machine-y things and wandered empty the fields all day, no friends, nothing fun to do. “Can't we go to the Grand Canyon this year?” he asked. “Or Yellowstone? Or somewhere fun? How about Six Flags? Can we go to Six Flags?”

Maddie ruffled his hair while Jack tried to stuff the last few crates of inventions into the undercarriage storage. “Now, Sweetie, this is supposed to be a vacation. Do you really want to go to a place like that filled with people and tourists?”

“I wanna go somewhere where there's something to _do_ ,” Danny whined. “It's _boring_ to drive around everywhere just to end up in another field.”

“'Battlefield', Danny,” Jack corrected. “You know what your mom and I do is important. We're looking for ghosts. There are so many battlefields out there if you know where to look.”

“It's a field and it's boring,” Danny snapped. “How about this: can I stay here with Uncle Frank while you go look at your fields?”

“I'm afraid not, Sweetie,” Maddie said as she tried to fold a crumpled state map. Arrows and crayon lines covered the map, pointing to spots she and Jack wanted to visit. “Uncle Frank is going to do some work on the reactor while we're gone and he doesn't need to be looking after you.”

Danny puffed up his chest. “I can take care of myself, _Mom_ , I don't need Uncle Frank keeping an eye on me all day.”

“You're not staying here and that's final,” Jack said as he forced the undercarriage door closed. A faint crack and tinkle could be heard from inside the compartment. He gave Maddie a sheepish look even as she glared. “We're going on vacation together, we're going to have a good time, and we're going to enjoy ourselves. All of us.”

Danny pouted even as he was lifted into the RV and the door closed.

Three weeks without TV or Tucker or any sort of real fun. Three weeks driving around the country while his parents stopped at every battle memorial marker and tested for ghosts. Ghosts! As if.

The engine roared to life as Maddie had them all wave goodbye to Fentonworks, to Uncle Frank, to home. The annual family road trip had begun.


	4. Ember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to [The Poet](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8560929/11/Danny-Phantom-s-Shorts) and [Ember Unplugged](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8560929/33/Danny-Phantom-s-Shorts).

Danny Phantom flew over the ill-kept suburban neighborhood, his ghost sense bothering him. This place had been pinging his senses for a week now, a nagging chill in the back of his mind. Something was wrong here, some ghost working this area, trying to take territory?

He just couldn't shake the feeling that this ghost was... allowed... to be here. But that was silly, he'd never felt that before about any ghost. Ghosts weren't 'allowed' to be anywhere, not unless it was a place they'd claimed but there was no claim here. Right?

His ghost sense went off, pointing him to a strangely dressed man meandering along the sidewalk. Strangely dressed indeed, he wore a three piece suit with velvet vest and some sort of lacy neck thing. A top hat with a velvet band sat askew on a bright blue wig. The man's face was hidden by a mask, a long nosed masquerade mask. Or maybe a long beaked mask? Danny couldn't tell what he was wearing or why, he could only tell that the man was possessed.

It was an easy observation. Danny watched as a mugger with a gun approached the man and was shot by an ectoblast from the man's ink-stained hand. The mugger ran off, seeking easier prey as the man continued stumbling through the run down houses until he reached one. This house had a front garden that looked to be made of weeds, vines, chaos, and cats. The cats hissed at him as he passed, all arching their backs at the ghost possessing him. A jingle of keys and the man went inside.

This wouldn't do, Danny thought. Ghosts were not allowed to set up territory in his town. When they tried they left nothing but chaos and terror and bad puns in their wake. He flew down to the house, wondering why the car in the drive seemed familiar.

He knocked on the door. Possessed or no, this was still the man's house.

The door opened as the man took off the masquerade mask.

“Mr. Lancer?!” Danny shrieked.

It **was** him. His English teacher was dressed like that one poet from the Skulk and Lurk, stank of bourbon, and had bright green glowing eyes. Definitely possessed. Danny raised a glowing hand. “Whoever you are, you have three seconds to vacate that body,” he warned.

Mr. Lancer merely leaned against the doorframe, his sprawl betraying the posture of the force within him. “Go home, you have school in the morning,” he said, voice and expression normal. That normality lasted only a moment before an expression of hilarious glee took its place.

“Baby Pop?!” Lancer crowed. “What the-- ohhh... I see. You saw us out on the town and wanted to swoop in to protect the innocent little Poet. Oh how cute.”

Danny's hand and face fell in horrible realization. “Ember?” he whispered.

Lancer twitched and his expression changed. “Phantom,” he said. “Ember warned me you might be a problem. Here's the thing.”

He changed again, his voice taking on new mocking tones. “The Poet and I have a contract and you can't touch me.” The image of Mr. Lancer leaned over and wiggling his rear end to the tone of his own words was one that would haunt Danny for the rest of his life.

Danny just stared, abject horror written all over his face.

Lancer's demeanor changed again. “Ember is correct, Phantom,” he said. “A contract freely signed is one that you cannot interfere with. And this was freely signed. I've always wanted to write music and she needed a new lyricist. She approached me about a month ago with the arrangement and it has been beneficial to the both of us, I think.”

A spider could have taken up residence in Danny's dropped jaw. “Why?!” he demanded.

Lancer's posture changed again, almost melting against the wall in an easy sprawl. “I like his writing,” he said. “We've got several songs in the works already. MTV will **RUE** the day they called me a one-hit-wonder. Rue, I tell you.”

“In the meantime,” Lancer said, standing up straight again. “I do have work in the morning and possession does tend to give me a hangover if it lasts too long so if you'll excuse us, we have work to do.”

“Oh and all that bourbon doesn't affect your hangovers at all,” Lancer said, responding to his own words.

“I never hear you complaining.”

“Yeah, 'cause you got good taste in booze.”

Danny stared straight ahead as the door closed and Mr. Lancer continued his argument with himself, or more accurately continued arguing with Ember over who drank the last of the whiskey last time. That... That was just wrong!

Danny sat down on the porch, his world view shattering as faint chords of a guitar drifted from inside the house.

 


	5. Dance

“No.”

“But--”

“Absolutely not.”

“You promised!”

“I most certainly did not, I said I'd let you help me, not this!”

“Oh don't be such a square.”

“I am not!”

“Yes you are. C'mon, this'll be a boss bash.”

“Don't care. And could you make sense?”

“What are you, my keeper? Sheesh, get with it and stop flippin'. You wanna dance in the competition, right? Well, all you gotta do is let me wear you like a cheap suit and we're in Fat City like wow.”

“I still have no idea how Sam talked me into this.”  
“I still don't get how a doll like that goes for a fream like you.”

“Hey, shut up.”

“Do you wanna impress her or not?”

“She'll notice!”

“Only if you goof like a cube.”

“Rrrrrrrrr...”

“Look, you're no wet rag but your skills are in Nowheresville, man. You need help and I'm in. Just say the word.”

“ _Fine_.”

***

“Danny, I had no idea you knew how to swing dance!” Sam shouted over the sound of the big brass band.

Danny tossed her out again, holding her hands so he could pull her right off her feet and into his arms. His feet twisted and turned along with the rest of him, taking the music and turning it into an art form. He grinned and kissed her cheek before they separated and the dance continued, her skirts swaying and his shoes squeaking against the hardwood floor.

His grey eyes glowed as he took her hand again for a twirl.


	6. Wes

This guy was beginning to annoy him.

Every time Danny's ghost sense went off he'd run to find somewhere private to transform. That's just how he always did it, the only way to keep a secret. And yet there was always this guy following him.

The first few times it was probably an accident. Probably. Guy in a basketball jersey shooting hoops in the school gym alone, probably an accident, although it was 2am at the time...

Same guy hanging out behind the Nasty Burger, could be an accident. Sure it smelled like wet ass back there...

Same guy **again** in a goddamned tree with a pair of binoculars, that's where Danny started to wonder.

But this?! Danny had just run into the mens' room at school, the locked one in building 5, and right there in the only stall was a pair of shoes belonging to that guy! He sat on the toilet, lid down, reading a goddamned newspaper! How the hell had he even gotten in? The door was locked, the window was three stories up.

“Hey,” the guy said.

Danny growled, eyes glowing green. He stormed out of the bathroom, phasing right through the locked door.

He had a stalker, some weird guy who just 'showed up' whenever he tried to transform.

It sucked.

 


	7. Amity Park: A Nice Place to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to [Sides of the Same Coin](http://archiveofourown.org/series/42019)

“Daniel, I said no.”

Danny ran after Vlad, over the copper seal of city hall. Static electricity danced at each tap of Vlad's cane, betraying the mayor's undead nature.

“C'mon, Vlad, please?” Danny begged. “You'd be perfect! All you have to do is take your ghost form and read the lines, how hard could that be?”

Vlad rolled his one good eye. “Daniel, my boy, if that's all you think acting is then I am definitely not involving myself in your little film project.”

“Okay, there's more to it than that,” Danny admitted. “But I can't be the bad guy, I'm supposed to be the hero, right? And I can't get anybody else to agree except the Box Ghost.”

Vlad smirked at the image.

“And you know how bad that'll be,” Danny continued. “You know I wrote lines other than 'I am the Box Ghost' but noooo he insists on introducing himself in every single scene!”

“Get one of your little friends to do it,” Vlad said dismissively. They'd reached his office. “Dora or whatever the dragon's name is. I'm sure she'll be an acceptable movie monster.”

Vlad pulled open the office door, waving his intern Tucker to silence, and headed into the main office. He closed the door with a finality that left no argument.

Danny pouted.

“He said 'no', right?” Tucker asked. “I could have told you that.”

“How else are we gonna make this movie?” Danny said, pouting. “I'm gonna fail film class if we can't get a good monster.”

“Why even make a monster movie?” Tucker asked. “You're supposed to make a short with the title 'Amity Park: A Nice Place to Live'. What part of that says monster movie?”

“I was trying to be ironic?” Danny said quietly.

Tucker rolled his eyes.

“What do you want me to do?” Danny demanded. “Mr. Lancer suggested I do something about the town's niceness, Dad said do one about ghosts, Mom wants me to do a film about the reactor, you said food, Dash said football, Vlad said money...”

“And Sam said a monster movie?” Tucker drolled.

“Sam said 'something cool',” Danny clarified. “Monster movies are cool, right?”

“Oh just tape a fan to the back of a lizard like every other shit monster movie,” Tucker said. “Have it maraud through a lego town.”

Danny sighed. “Well, it's either that or the Box Ghost...”

***

Film class spent final's week showing the films made by its students, all with the same title. 'Amity Park: A Nice Place to Live' turned out two real estate films, seven tourist bait films, three films promising flying cars, four monologues, and one monster movie.

If the film of a 'giant' fluffy rabbit eating buildings made out of hollowed out radishes could be called a monster movie. Even shots of Danny Phantom fighting something couldn't save it, especially with the faint shouts of 'I am the Box Ghost' in the background. Still, it was an effort.

Sort of.

 


	8. Vacation

Most kids didn't come to Montana for their vacation.

Most kids got to go to Disneyland or the Grand Canyon or even Yellowstone. Heck, Yellowstone was right there, why couldn't they go there?

But nooo... They were stuck here in the mountains of Montana picking their way through ancient iron pilings and rotted wood carts looking for abandoned mining shafts.

“Isn't this private property?” Jazz asked for the third time.

“Don't worry Sweetie,” Maddie said. “We'll be fine. No one will know we were even here.”

Danny looked at the giant RV parked in the ghost town down the mountain. It stuck out like a beacon, visible from the air, the highway, on foot, in any direction. He looked back at his parents, specifically his father in his bright orange jumpsuit shining against grey rocks and green shrubbery.

Danny had to roll his eyes.

“We're almost there,” Jack promised. “And then we'll be able to set up camp.”

“Camp?!” Danny demanded. “We're going to camp out here? Why can't we sleep in the RV?”

“Because we can't get the RV up to the mine shaft,” Jack said as though it was the most obvious thing.

“We shouldn't even be here,” Jazz warned. “This is private property. You did get permission for us to be here, right? Right?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure, sure,” Jack said distantly. He was too busy looking at a piece of equipment, a little scanner with a large radio dish sticking out the top. “Hmph.”

“What is it, dear?” Maddie asked.

“Maybe if we get closer to the mine shaft we'll find something.”

“Of course, dear.”

Danny heard something from the valley below. A pickup truck was pulling up the gravel turnoff to the ghost town. It stopped at the RV and a man got out, knocking and scowling. “Dad,” Danny said.

“Not now, Danny,” Jack said.

“But Dad...”

“We're almost there, Danny.”

Danny scowled. “Dad, the RV's gonna get towed!”

“Don't be silly, Danny,” Maddie said.

Danny growled and watched the guy next to the RV pull out a pad of paper and write something down. Then he got back into his pickup truck and drove off.

Jack finally looked down the mountain. “See, the RV's fine,” he said. “Now let's go. This is supposed to be fun!”

Danny sighed, deep and put-upon.

“And don't take that tone with me, young man.”

“I didn't say anything!”

Jack ignored him again as they finally found the opening to the abandoned mine shaft. “Here we are,” he crowed. “We'll set up camp right here.”

Danny sat down on a rock and pouted, arms crossed. He just knew the RV would be gone in the morning, towed for trespassing. Again.

 


	9. Water

It happened every summer.

The waterpark would open, try to compete, but even their waterslides and the lazy river couldn't compete with Lake Eerie.

There was a monster in Lake Eerie. Everyone knew it. Every summer the waterfront would fill with lake-goers. There were the usual, the teenage girls in bikinis looking for a cheap tan, the grumbling fishermen complaining about the noise, the creepy fishermen who came with binoculars to look at the teenage girls. The monster hunters, the children, the swimmers, the locals and the tourists.

And Jack Fenton.

The monster of Lake Eerie had to be a ghost, it had to be. What other type of monster could it be? A giant fish, an eel, a result of too many beers, a fish story? Bah, those were the _lazy_ explanations. Somewhere deep in these waters there lurked a ghost.

Jack had theories about it. It had to use the lakeweed, had to. Too many stories about the monster involved lakeweed. It was some grayish-green color. It had hands. Of course it had hands, too many stories of the monster grabbing victims and dragging them under, never to be seen again.

That much he knew. Also it wasn't gigantic, despite what the claims were. It was small for a monster, maybe the size of a large man. It had big pointy teeth and a tail.

It had to be caught.

Much of the draw to Lake Eerie was watching Jack Fenton wading out into the lake in that stifling orange jumpsuit of his, holding some kind of scanner in one hand and a big ectoblaster in the other.

The ensuing battle was always fun to watch. Sometimes it was with a fisherman in a boat trying to beat Jack off with his pole. Sometimes Jack just ran back to shore shouting “something touched meeeeeeee!” And sometimes the lakeweed itself attacked.

Today was one of those days as the crowd assembled on shore watched as Jack Fenton struggled against long strings of tough plant that wrapped around him and tried to drag him under. He shot back at them, the water churning with energy, barely able to keep his head above water. The blaster wasn't working, wasn't cutting the weeds, so he reached into his boot and pulled out a knife, slicing through tough fronds. An odd squeal sounded around him as the monster pulled back, as the lakeweed went limp and stopped its struggles. Jack pulled it off of him and stood up in the water, only chest deep.

He grabbed his things and trudged back to shore.

The monster had evaded capture. But he had drawn blood.

Today was a good day.

 


	10. Video Games

One of the wonderful things about senior year at Casper High was the after school extracurriculars.

Once a student had all of their graduation requirements finished or taken concurrent that student was allowed to take certain extracurriculars, classes that the teachers were allowed to design themselves. These classes didn't always transfer anywhere but some were considered real-world valuable. Ms. Tetslaff's self defense class was repeatedly considered such.

But this year there was one class that Danny and Tucker both had their eye on. 'Video Game Plot and Design' had never been available before. Weird that it was considered an English class. Wouldn't it be a programming class? What part of design required English?

They entered the marked classroom to find a darkened room. Someone sat at the front playing a game, a 3rd person shooter set in space. That someone must be an expert as every eye was drawn to the screen. The main character was a realistically curved woman in full body armor who favored the pistol, making full use of the Marksman and Barrier skills to mow down groups of robots from cover. The electronic growls from these robots, labelled Geth, echoed through the speakers as they died.

“Whoa, that looks like Mass Effect,” Tucker said over the din. “I've been trying to get a copy for months.”

“Why can't you?” Danny asked.

“I'm not 18.”

The player glanced up and only then seemed to notice the number of people in the room. He paused the game. A bio of a 'Jane Sheppard' came up on the screen, showing skills, level, morality, and XP.

And then people noticed who was playing.

“Mr. Lancer?” Danny asked, eyes wide.

Mr. Lancer gestured for the standing students to take seats. There were several standing, more than there were seats available. Lancer seemed to accept it.

“Greeting, class, and welcome to 'Video Game Plot and Design',” he began. “First of all, I'd like to clear something up. This is not a programming class. I am not a programmer. That's not why I'm here. I'm here because there's more to video games than just the gameplay. This class will cover the history of storytelling in video games and yes we will be using examples.”

He passed out a syllabus overviewing the basics of the class and a form to be signed by their parents. A few groans came out of that page.

“We will be covering several games in this class,” Lancer continued. “Mass Effect, the System Shock series, Doomed, Ultima IV, and Knights of the Old Republic will all be discussed heavily in this class. If you have not played any of these games let me know and we can work something out. If you are under 18 the parental permission slip is a requirement for this class as several of these games include adult themes and visuals, including the infamous Mass Effect romance scene.

“Now... There will be several papers in this class...”

Lancer paused for the groans to die down.

“There will be several papers for this class,” he repeated. “Most of them will be short analyses of a scene of gameplay that will be played in-class and will be made available afterward through video screen capture. There will be one major paper later in the term on a video game of your choice; you might want to begin thinking on your topic sooner rather than later. Are there any questions?”

Danny looked around the room. Tucker seemed too caught up in the idea of a video games class, especially one where homework might involve playing them. Many of the other students had that same look in their eye. Danny wasn't so sure. He was too caught up in a nagging question.

How did Mr. Lancer know video games?


	11. Folklore

Finally a hotel.

It wasn't the best of hotels, an old brick building covered in gunshot holes. Sure the brochure said all the holes were from the battle of Gettysburg but Danny wasn't impressed.

He'd seen far too many old places like this on family vacations. The Farnsworth House was just another place to him, just another 'haunted' house looking to cash in on history and ghost stories.

Still, it meant sleeping in a real bed tonight. A real bed with real sheets and really not sharing with his sister. Better yet, his parents were staying upstairs in the padlocked Garret, known for its screaming and its gunshots and the big patch of wet blood that still stained the floor to this day. Still wet, still fresh.

Gross.

Too many haunted houses were gross like that. Always blood and screaming and death. Which made sense, he thought, but still gross.

Thus once night fell and the Garrett was padlocked with his parents inside, Danny ignored his sister's threats to tattle and left the hotel to take a walk. He was 12, he'd be fine.

The town was soft, quieting down for the night. A fog rose from the old battlefields, moving in terrible ways as though the dead still writhed within.

Just a trick of the eyes. That's all it was, just a trick of the eyes.

He walked past the cemetery, fog thickest there. Fog always hung thick in cemeteries, that wasn't anything new. Danny shivered and tried to ignore it.

The fog... followed him.

Danny walked faster.

Motes of light shone in the fog, pale blue corpse-lanterns that danced and bobbed in the mist.

“Nope,” Danny whispered as he broke into a run. He wasn't willing to get caught by any corpse-lantern ghost. He'd never hear the end of it.

A small hill rose above the mist of the ancient battlefield. Danny ran toward it even as he saw he would be sharing that small hill with a man on horseback. An odd man, somewhat old looking with white hair and a really ancient blue uniform. The horse was pure white, its mane shining in the moonlight. The man wore an old timey hat, maybe a pirate hat? Danny wasn't sure where he'd seen a hat like that before. But the man did look awfully familiar...

The mist refused to climb the hill. Corpse-lanterns floated near the base before one by one drifting away. The man looked down at Danny and patted him on the head before tapping his heels into the horse's side.

The horse began to walk down the hill. The man beckoned for Danny to follow.

***

Danny found himself on the steps of the Farnsworth House. The door opened to his touch as the man on horseback watched. Danny yawned and trudged back to his room. Hopefully Jazz would be asleep.

No such luck. She was hanging halfway out the window, staring at the man on horseback with wide eyes. “Danny!” she hissed. “What were you doing out there? Don't you know who that was?!”

Danny shrugged. “He led me back here? Don't tell Dad but there were corpse-lanterns everywhere out there.”

Jazz pointed out the window at the man. “Danny, that's George Washington!”

But when she looked back, the man on horseback was gone.

 


	12. Fusion

Some of the greatest fusions were desserts.

The ice cream cake, for example. Cake fused with ice cream, the whole thing chilled and frosted into a single slice. As many different flavors and flavor combinations as the imagination could comprehend.

The banana split. Fruit and dessert all in one bowl, a melange of flavors that all melded into luxurious tasty.

The root beer float. Bubbly spicy root beer with vanilla ice cream, the creamy merging with the spicy to make a whole new flavor.

Now this. There was a ghost in the ghost zone who made them, only one could manage the feat. A unique fusion that couldn't possibly exist. But it did.

Vanilla ice cream and hot chocolate. Normally it would all melt into a lukewarm chocolately goop but not here, not now, not in the hands of that one ghost. Steamy, creamy hot chocolate with a scoop of chilled vanilla ice cream floating on the top, gently melting ever so slowly.

No one knew how the ghost did it. No one else could replicate the feat, living or dead.

And no one knew why.

 


	13. Amorpho

The sign did not lie.

The sign gave him permission to be here, made him important. He was supposed to be here. He had a job to do.

The sign said so.

He didn't even have to put on a disguise, the sign made it clear that he was needed exactly as he was. Hat, trench coat, shifty glowing eyes, face in shadow. He wasn't going to disobey the sign, not when it so clearly told him that he was needed here, welcomed, relied upon.

And so he did his job. Stopped a mugging here, escorted an old lady home there, but mostly he watched.

This was his neighborhood and it needed to be watched.

The sign said so.


	14. Season Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to [Conclave](http://archiveofourown.org/works/835392)

This is embarrassing.

I should not have to demean myself like this.

I am Vladimir Masters and my companies rival General Electric in scope and power. I have risen from a lowly local 'dairy king' to CEO of a multinational corporation with interests in aerospace, food production, spectral research, investment banking, and personal defense.

And I have to debase myself by playing the villain to this misguided, misinformed, misled, mis **raised** godson of mine. All because he wants to play the “hero” and damn it all Clockwork doesn't think he should be told when he's wrong! 'Let the boy figure it out for himself,' he says. 'He won't learn any other way,' he says.

At least the rest of the ghost masters are as fed up with this shit as I am. But they were going to kill him! Remove his soul from the cycle of death and rebirth entirely. They were going to feed him to the demon daughters and leave it at that. I...

I couldn't do it.

And now I'm stuck being the boy's villain so he won't hero himself into a permanent grave or a rakshasa's belly.

Daniel, you are a moron. You have no concept of what I'm giving up to keep your stupid hide intact.

 


	15. Sci Fi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _First Spaceship on Venus_ and _12 to the Moon_ are both available through MST3K.

The movie, _First Spaceship on Venus,_ ended. Mr. Lancer brought the lights back up as the credits rolled. The movie was over, leaving half an hour of class time for a discussion.

“Now, class, knowing that science fiction is reflective of the society in which it's written, what can you say about this film and its source?”

Sam raised her hand. Lancer granted her the floor.

“You claim this movie was made in 1960,” she began. “But either that's wrong or this movie proves that sci fi cannot be reflective of its society. There's no possible way this movie was made in the 60s or even the 80s. This **has** to be a modern film made to look old.”

“Oh?” Lancer said, looking smug.

“It's a multinational crew,” she said, listing off the things that seemed modern to her. “Multiracial and multigendered. The women are not treated like sex objects, more than that they're respected! The men on that crew respected the women as experts in their fields without being condescending or just plain dicks. There was no inherent racism visible among the crew either. The black guy had the same respect as anybody else, so did the asian scientists. And nobody hooked up! There was no romance in this film!”

Lancer nodded, waiting for her to catch her breath and continue.

“On top of that, this was an anti-nuclear film! They showed the shadows of atom bomb victims, the movie ended with heroic sacrifices and an anti-nuclear message! The surviving crew ended up warning Earth of the dangers of atomic weapons. They may even have succeeded! There's no possible way this was a film from 1960. The prevalent culture would not allow a movie like this to be made.” She sat back and dared Lancer to contradict her.

“This film was written, produced, filmed, and made in Soviet East Germany,” Lancer said. “It reflects the society of the time. Under communism, a person's worth was not decided by their race or sex, but on what they did with the potential given to them. That's why the heroic sacrifices of Talua and Dr. Yu were a marooning. A simple death is just death, but allowing their comrades to escape while they stayed behind to ensure the safety of the mission represented the ultimate sacrifice.

“That's something else to consider when viewing science fiction,” he continued. “The culture a piece comes from influences it as much as the science or the fiction. Contrast this with _12 to the Moon_ , made the same year in the US. A similar multinational crew devolves into infighting and mistrust, the same battle lines from World War II and the Cold War are drawn, the token woman is written as a plot device for romance, and when the heroic sacrifice is required the characters draw lots and attempt to avoid their task. They have to be forced to give up their lives to save the entire planet Earth.

“Two movies made the same year. One American, one Soviet. Which of the sci-fi futures portrayed therein would you rather live in and why? Discuss.”

 


	16. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Related to [Sides of the Same Coin](http://archiveofourown.org/series/42019)

“Hey Vlad?” Danny asked.

“Hmmm?”

“What does 'ge rouge' mean?”

Vlad sat up in his wingback chair, taking a sip of brandy as he stared into the lit fireplace. Danny sat in a nearby chair, a glass of red wine held in his underage hands. He seemed curious, nothing more.

It was time to tell him.

“'Red eyes',” Vlad said. “It's French, a title given to the loa born of the horrors of the Haitian slave trade. Why do you ask?”

“It's just...” Danny looked into his red wine, deep and dark. Darker than blood. He could never ask his parents about things like this, not and get a real answer. “I heard some of the other ghosts today. At the marketplace. They called you that behind your back. Why do they call you a loa?”

“Because I am,” Vlad admitted. He took a deep breath. “Daniel, you're possessed by your own ghost. That's a rare thing in this world and the next. I don't have that luxury. When the protoportal shredded my soul it was a loa who came through and entered my body, kept it alive through the ordeal.”

“Are you possessed?”

“Not in any traditional sense, not anymore. The loa has been within me for so long that neither of us knows where one ends and the other begins. Perhaps there is no more boundary and we're simply Plasmius now. It would not surprise me.”

Danny nodded and took a sip of wine. That was another thing his parents couldn't understand that Vlad was all too willing to indulge. If Danny wanted, needed to feel alive it was Vlad who would call for a five course meal with wine pairings and a day in the spa. If Danny needed to flare his core without hurting people it was Vlad who provided the excuse, opportunity, and facilities. It was even bleeding over into Danny's school life, Vlad inviting private tutors from all over the ghost zone. What better way to learn electrical potential than from Technus, Shakepeare's plays from Ghostwriter, history from the very ghosts who'd been there?

“I haven't heard much about loa,” Danny admitted. “I mean, other than what you hear about when voodoo comes up. Y'know, dolls and zombies and stuff.”

Vlad snorted. “Zombies are at least close,” he admitted. “A loa is called upon to possess a dead or nearly dead body. It then provides a service for the bokor, often manual labor, in return for the opportunity to feel as the living might. I am a powerful loa, able to influence a living body and mind, even able to grant it access to my powers.”

Danny shivered as he realized he wasn't talking to Vlad anymore. “What kind of loa are you?” he asked.

Vlad chuckled, his eyes glowing red in the firelight. “You must understand, Daniel, the Ge Rouge loa are not to be trifled with, nor are they to be feared. Erzulie, for instance, is the loa of love and beauty. But once her eyes turned red at the horrors of slavery, well... She cares for rape victims when no one else will. Papa Legba, the master of crossroads, is the keeper of words when his eyes turn red. Words can be the greatest weapon, able to incite revolution or calm the greatest beast. The Barons dictate pain, as only a Baron can decide when a person is allowed to die. If a Baron will not dance with you then you will live on, regardless of the tortures you may be going through.”

“Wow...”

“And then there's me,” Vlad said. “When justice's eyes go red, vengeance is born. Why else do you think I used to hate your father? I could have had any woman I wanted, dead or alive. Your mother was merely the easiest way to take away what your father loved most. You know I wouldn't have stopped there, I'd have stood with open arms waiting for you and Jasmine to see the reality I offered and come to me willingly. After all, money for college, training, the chance to do what you really wanted with your lives... And then I would have left Jack alone in his emptiness to feel the torture that Vladimir did when they left him to die.”

Danny at silently even as Vlad sipped his brandy. It... made sense. Ghosts had obsessions, so why shouldn't loa? But if this loa was causing Vlad to want revenge then maybe Vlad... Danny's head hurt. “Why did you stop?” he asked.

Vlad smiled, a sinister, pure smile. “My dear boy... I've already won,” he said. “Jasmine has left to begin her life. Madeline is drifting from her husband as she focuses on research and understanding while he still insists on destruction. And you...”

Vlad chuckled darkly. “I have my vengeance. I have you.”


	17. Food

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First person POV, Vlad Masters. Before he was rich.

Ghosts have obsessions. That much is obvious, isn't it? After all, there are ghosts who engross themselves so deeply into single things that they become Masters of that thing. Technology, time, hunting, cooking, awkward family dinners, boxes, what have you. Those are considered normal ghosts because they're the ones most often seen. Ghost researchers need only bait a haunted area with a piece of the suspected ghost's obsession and wait, cameras in hand.

Right?

But then what about all the other ghosts?

The Ghost Zone is full of them, ghosts who claim they just want to be left alone. Who don't appear to have obsessions. Who just sort of hang out in the aether, floating along the currents of their afterlives. What keeps those ghosts around?

It's well known that without an obsession a ghost will slowly dissolve. Do all these other ghosts disprove the idea? Or must the idea of obsessions be revised? Perhaps it's plain wrong?

I heard a theory once and decided to test it. Okay, I admit, I heard the theory from _The X-Files_ and it involved zombies, not ghosts. Still, it was close enough to what I've observed through my years of research that I simply had to test it.

First step was to go to the Ghost Zone and ask around. It's the one step that no human researcher can or will ever do. It's the secret to my success as a paranormal researcher, the fact that I chocolate fudging **ask**.

No one else even bothers to ask. It's... dehumanizing. But I diverge.

Step one was to ask. Simple enough. Oddly it left me more questions than answers. Even up close these ghosts didn't seem to have any obsession. Rather, they still thought of themselves as _alive_.

This led me to step two and I admit I got in trouble over this one. Not from my 'fellow researchers', no, it was the Fuzz. That might require some explanation. You see...

If these ghosts consider themselves alive then I wanted to find out what they would do when placed in a situation where they would be allowed to indulge that sense of life. The three bastions of life that that one _X-Files_ episode mentioned were food, drink, and pleasure. So I did what I could using my limited funds of the time to set something up.

I invited a dozen ghosts. I figured that would be a large enough sample size. I had a five course meal planned out with matching wines. Never underestimate the power of matching wine. There's nothing better than an excellently paired wine with a tasty morsel. After that I had planned dancing, music, a selection of party games; I had no idea what to expect, all right?!

I was young and stupid.

Thirty ghosts showed up, ate me out of house and home, and the music brought to cops down on my place three separate times that night. I still have no idea how I'm going to pay the tickets.

But... I have my data.

Ghost can exist without obsessions. Absolutely. But those who do have a harder time at existing long-term than those who keep their obsessions.

Ghosts without obsessions merely have to eat and drink like humans do. And then they tend to party.

And I am never throwing a party like that again.

 


	18. Frostbite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a hypothesis that the Clovis Civilization was wiped out by a comet impacting the ice sheet.

Once, they were men.

No one remembered such a time but legend said so and legends were meant to be respected.

Frostbite did not remember such a time either. He only had the Ice Stones to prove it, the great standing stones in the middle of the Far Frozen that told of the life and death of this glacier and everyone with it.

It was a long time ago, ages and ages. Thousands of years before the Ghost King rose to power. Theirs was a great glacier and they lived at its base in a great civilization. They shaped the ice with tools, carrying great blocks of it on vast rafts of grass and wood. They made bowls with the glacier's silt, built walls of ice to shield them from its biting cold, carved the stones the glacier brought them.

They hunted the great furry things and wore their hides. Brown hides of the mammoth, tan hides of the fuzzy camel, striped hides of the furry horse, white hides of the dire wolf. They wore these hides the most, the white hides, for they could hunt on the glacier that way. The ice hid them, brought them down into her bosom and cradled them from hunger, from biting cold, from the unforgiving day.

But the ice could not protect them from the sky.

The light in the sky started faint, a great tailed thing that swung around the sun, hunting them at night. The Ice Stones said Frostbite knew the tailed sky-thing hunted them, that he tried to call upon the glacier to protect them.

But Frostbite didn't remember.

Nor did he remember when the hunter's tail stretched across the sky from ice to land. Nor when the hunter struck.

His first memory was waking here, in the Far Frozen, so wrapped in his dire wolf fur that he could not take it off. Surrounded by the ghost of the glacier and by the souls of his people, he did the only thing he could do.

He led them on.

The glacier would protect them, even in death.

 


	19. Favorite Outfit

Favorite outfit, hmm? I suppose I'd have to say...

What, this? No! Of course not. This is a jumpsuit, not an outfit. It's a piece of survival gear, necessary when you work with evil things as dark and as scary as I do. You know I work with ghosts, right? All the time! The jumpsuit is for protection.

I don't even wear anything under it.

What? Why are you looking at me like that?

Anyway, you were asking what my favorite outfit was? Of course you were. No, don't get up, you have questions and I'll answer them. No it's not getting late. Here, have another cookie. My wife makes them.

Outfit... Outfit... Oh yes. I'd have to say that my favorite outfit is the fishing waders, the flannel, and the hat. I have my most fun in those, hunting the monster in Lake Eerie, traisping in haunted swamps and rivers on family vacations, just relaxing. Ah, yes, those are good times.

What? Of course I wear my jumpsuit under them. What do you think I am, careless?

Now then. Next question?


	20. Snow

This sucks.

Danny knew better than to say it aloud, especially after yesterday. Yesterday he'd gone on a long rant about how he was tired, hiking was hard, it was cold, wasn't it summer, why was there snow still on the ground, what's wrong with this place. All his parents had done was give each other these looks and changed their plans.

It still sucked. In fact it sucked even more now. But he didn't dare say anything. Saying something was why they were here.

Snow. In August.

Why.

Danny shivered. He didn't have winter clothes packed, not for a summer vacation. The cold of the ice seeped through his hiking sneakers, crunched under each step. Howling winds cut through the several summer shirts he wore, sapping his strength. His jeans chafed against his skin, wet and cold. Hadn't it been 80 degrees down at the base of the mountain? Why was it so cold up here?

Stupid snow. Stupid glacier. Stupid sucky glacier.

“In the 1800s there were whole wagon trains that got lost in these mountains,” Jack called over the shrieking winds. “Entire families wiped out, even in the summer. Their ghosts have got to still be here. Tell me if you hear anything, kids. It should sound like wailing.”

Danny glared at his dad. “The wind's been wailing since we got here,” he snapped.

Danny's mood fell further when Jack's eyes lit up. “Great! We're camping up here then!”

Even Maddie's grin looked forced. “Jack, did you remember to bring the subarctic gear this time?” she asked.

“What? No, we won't need it, it's summer!”

Maddie's grin fell as she looked at her shivering children. It was going to be a long night. “I'll get stuff for a fire,” she said, taking a different trail. Maybe she would find a cave or a hollow or some sheltered spot where the kids could be warm tonight.

 


	21. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues from 'Snow'

The fire sputtered in the cold wind. The rocky outcropping did little to hide them from the howling wails that rose and fell in the skies.

Maddie, Jazz, and Danny sat huddled around the fire, their sleeping bags pulled around them like blankets. The cold bit through the summer fabric, taunting them for following Jack's foolish notion that they should camp up on the mountain. People died in these mountains, people better equipped than them. Just because a hundred, two hundred years had passed did not mean the mountain forgot.

It did not mean the mountain forgave.

A single shriek pierced through the night. Maddie looked up, her eyes kept sharp and alert by her red goggles as she scanned the horizon. Snow blew down the slopes of the mountain but the sky was icy clear, stars twinkling coldly in the uncaring blackness.

“What was that?” Jazz asked.

Maddie searched the horizon. She could see the bright spot of Jack's fire, somehow roaring in the distance despite the wind. The man never did seem to suffer from his mistakes. “It was nothing,” Maddie assured. “Do you kids want to hear a story?”

Jazz nodded blearily while Danny glowered out from under his sleeping bag.

“Well, you know your father and I are looking for the ghosts of a caravan that died here,” Maddie began. “But legend says it was more than a simple death that waited here for them. You see, these mountains aren't alone.

“In the snows there lives a monster, some call it a spirit. Others think it's a simple sickness that overpowers the weak-willed. We think it's a ghost possessing the unwary and unprepared.

“But remember, kids, no matter what happens, we're all safe from the monster. After all, it only preys on the unprepared and the starving. It's called... the wendigo.”

The wind howled at the mention of the monster's name. Maddie waited patiently for the wind to die down.

“It waits until hunger strikes and despair begins to set in. Then it will select a victim and enter their bodies. Once possessed by the wendigo a person begins to change, physically and mentally. They grow thin, incredibly thin. Their hands turn to bony claws and and some say they even grow antlers.” She raised her hands to her head to mime a pair of antlers.

“But recently... the wendigo has begun to change...”

She paused again as the wind whipped up a fury, waited until the wind settled back down.

“The wendigo wants more,” she said. “It wants more than to eat the flesh of the foolish. It's always been a monster of greed but now... Now in our modern world it has found more to covet than just food. It craves destruction, eating ice and oil and the very trees. It craves the world, grabbing all that it can in an attempt to build itself an empire but always consuming what it finds before it can use it. And so your father and I are here to find it and stop it, to keep it from eating the world.”

Danny huffed and laid down on the cold, hard ground. He didn't believe the story. It was one of far too many where his mother ended up casting herself and Dad as world-saving heroes. Ghosts didn't threaten the world and they certainly weren't going to eat it.

He closed his eyes. He might as well try and get some sleep. It might take the edge off of the strange hunger that gnawed at his insides.

 


	22. Star

A sprained ankle started it.

A sprained ankle during the homecoming game. It was the end of the season so Star wouldn't be missing much, she could even take basketball season off from the cheerleading squad. Paulina would vouch for her, no problem. After all, the best artists were the ones who had suffered for their art.

But that left Star with an entire spring term with nothing to do in the afternoons.

All her friends were busy with cheer practice and games. They didn't get out of practice until late in the day, leaving Star to either sit on the sidelines with the coach and watch or...

Enrolling in the community college seemed the better idea. And it would look good on her transcripts. But what to take? And how to hide it so no one knew about it?

She didn't want more English classes and History was dull. Most of her math was self-taught and she didn't want to deal with the nerds at Casper finding out. The science classes? Maybe...

This one looked neat and it didn't have any 4 hour labs attached to it. Beginning Astronomy. And she was sure there wouldn't be a single person from Casper High in the course. No one to find out.

Besides, taking dates out stargazing was fun.

 


	23. Dragons

Dragons were real.

Maybe not now, but they were once real. Like ghosts, really, they used to be alive but now they're not. All that's left are their bones. Mostly. Occasionally there's more than just bones, enough for dragonologists to recreate the monsters in all their colorful glory.

Lumbering dragons with long tails and no wings. Musical dragons that sang with great frills on their heads. Terrible dragons who ran like the wind and hunted in great feathered packs.

Dora liked to come to the museum where all the bones were held, where the skeletons were frozen in mid-roar. She liked to look at the dragons and laugh at what the dragonologists called 'accurate'.

She knew better.

She knew the compact dragons with the big neck-frill and face horns, she knew that they used to dance intricate dances with their paws and their colors and their clicking beaks.

She knew the two-legged pack hunting dragons had wings, feathery wings they used to hold onto their prey while they slashed it open and spilled its guts.

But best of all, the gigantic gnarly dragons with the tiny arms and the giant heads covered in a dozen horns. They fought in great battles against each other, a new horn for each foe vanquished.

Dora would spend hours looking at the skeleton of that one, a dragon named Sue. She wondered what it would be like to grow new horns for each battle won, what it felt like to have her tail stepped on, even what it was like to run fast and far without needing wings to stabilize her.

Maybe Sue was still in the ghost zone. Maybe not.

65 million years was a long time.

 


	24. Accidents

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

It was supposed to work out fine! Or at least it should have fizzled, maybe blown up a classroom, nothing serious. Like that fire that Maddie's freshman students set and she had to run in there with the fire extinguisher and put out the whole wall.

But not this. Never this.

“Maybe he'll be okay,” Jack said.

Maddie shook her head, hand over her mouth in shock. She'd never seen burns like this before. This wasn't supposed to happen...

“Vlad, buddy, squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” Jack said. “We're gonna get you out of this. It's gona be okay. I promise.”

Strange glowing eyes moved slightly, trying to lock sight on Jack.

“We've got to get him to a hospital,” Maddie said.

“Maddie, if they find out this happened we'll lose all our funding. College is over for us.”

“ **Life** is going to be over for Vlad if we don't get him some help!”

“Shh... I'll think of something. C'mon, buddy, let's get you out of here.” Jack picked Vlad up bridal-style. “Maddie, make sure nobody's coming.”

“Jack, it's the middle of the day, whatever idea you have it's a stupid one.”

“I don't care, Maddie, I'm not letting Vlad get lost in a hospital. We're getting out of here.”

Maddie shook her head. “I can't let you do this,” she warned. “You're gonna get him killed and I'll have to testify against you to save my own ass.”

Jack held Vlad out like a doll. “Vlad, tell her she's wrong.”

Vlad said nothing.

“Okay, maybe you're right,” Jack admitted. “But what's a normal hospital gonna do? This was a ghost portal that blew up, are they really gonna take this seriously or are they just gonna bandage him and tell him not to be a moron?”

“Look, I know a guy,” Maddie said. “He got me interested in this. Works with an agency. Guys in White or something. They deal with paranormal science, they'll know what to do.”

Jack nodded, sighing heavily. “What about it, V-Man? Sound like a good idea?”

Vlad's strange glowing eyes widened a fraction.

“Good, he's still responding,” Maddie said. “And I know we may lose our funding over this, Jack, but would you rather lose your funding or your friend?”

Jack had to agree.

The protoportal had just blown up in Vlad's face leaving him horribly burned. These 'Guys in White' could help. Right?

 


	25. Peace

Peace was overrated.

Peace meant there were no ghosts in Amity Park. Peace meant Vlad was missing. Peace meant he had nothing to do.

Danny fought ghosts. That's what he did. Ever since he was 14 his waking (and sleeping) life was overtaken with his calling, his duty. He had to fight ghosts.

Evil ghosts who tried to take over his city. Annoying ghosts who simply set up shop and demanded attention. Weak ghosts who prowled the streets looking for stray cats to scare. Strong ghots who laughed in his face as he challenged them to a duel.

Peace was uncomfortable. Peace meant nothing was happening, the world was stagnant, something was wrong with reality.

He would have no peace.

He didn't want it.


	26. Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last day.

The rakshasa sat back, exhausted.

The library was no longer quiet, the voices from local school children echoing from across the building. The rakshasa glanced at the time. “Bus leaves in half an hour,” she mused aloud.

_You can keep going…_

The rakshasa looked around, her ears twitching around to find the sound. A moment was all it took for her to realize it was’t real.

_You’re missing a few prompts… You can contune… Don’t you want to tell **my** story?_

The rakshasa sighed. She couldn’t answer the voice, not here. People would notice. See, this was why she walked everywhere, it was easy to argue with the voices when alone. Instead she typed out in the open file:

‘I’ve already told your story.’

_Oh but there’s more… So much more and you know it. Like with your little Lovecraftian jaunt. You gave up that story almost eight years ago and now you’re back there, telling new stories and tweaking old ones. What’s next, finishing the werewolf trilogy? Don’t you want to continue my story? You know how it ends…_

'I feel I left your story fairly complete.’ The rakshasa resolutely decided to ignore the five half-finished stories languishing on her hard drive, stories left over from when she had medicated away the very voice she was arguing with. And wasn’t this insane, arguing with a voice she knew not to be real.

_Your words make me real._

The rakshasa nodded. She had to admit to that.

_Keep going… At least finish the days you’ve foregone…_

She didn’t write her agreement with that statement. Rather she erased the lines she’d written to this voice, cracked her knuckles, and started again on a new day’s prompt.

 


End file.
